


maybe i am what they say i am

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23174554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Geralt is bested by a werewolf and leaves the fight with a new scar.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 253





	maybe i am what they say i am

Geralt had gotten many, many scars over the span of his long, long life. There was one place he always tried to protect, though, perhaps out of some kind of vanity or perhaps he just thought it’d make him look scarier and that was the _last_ thing he needed, especially if he wanted to keep getting jobs. But then —

It was a particularly nasty night — raining and cold — and he was hunting a werewolf, paid to kill it by some townsfolk in the local town. He had fought werewolves before, but this fight would be different. When he found the werewolf, they fought, long and hard. The werewolf was fast and bested Geralt more than once.

The fight ended not long after the werewolf knocked him off his feet. Jumping on him, the beast swatted at his face, snarling wildly, and he cursed at the pain.

But he couldn’t dwell on it for long; he had a job to do. He found his sword after grabbing blindly for it, and slashed the werewolf. With a yelp, there was the thump of a body and the satisfaction of a finished job. Geralt took a heaving breath and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. He realized, when he looked, that his hand was covered in blood.

Lots of it.

Geralt cursed again and stood up on shaky legs. He returned to the town and immediately all eyes were on him. At first he assumed it was because of the blood and guts on his clothes, but then he caught sight of his reflection in a puddle of water.

He slowed to a stop.

His cheek had been ripped open.

***

His cheek healed over the course of a few months, of course, but there was a reminder left behind: a nasty looking scar, big and textured. He finally looked the part. He looked like a real monster, and he never heard the end of it.

***

They all noticed it, stared, commented on it. Geralt never satisfied their curiosity. Fuck them.

***

Even Yennefer commented on it the next time they met, months later in a big city. She wasn’t cruel, not like the others, but she still had to say _something_. Geralt left that night without telling her, feeling unexpectedly upset.

***

Then — he saw Jaskier again. He hadn’t seen him since — well, since _before_.

He was performing in a tavern in a small town, as chipper as ever. Geralt debated turning around before he saw him. He _knew_ Jaskier; if anyone couldn’t keep their mouth shut, it was him. He would surely get one look at his face and not be able to stop himself from commenting. It would probably just be a bad joke, to be fair, a fleeting thing but Geralt still wasn’t sure he could handle it.

But he hadn’t seen him in _so long_ , and frankly he’d kind of missed the human, surprisingly so.

So, taking a deep breath, he walked to the back of the tavern and sat. He waited, and eventually Jaskier approached, like he knew he would. “I _thought_ I saw you — ”

He trailed off when he was close enough. Geralt tensed, preparing for it.

But then — “So, were you listening?” he asked, sliding into the chair across from him. Geralt stared at him dumbly. Jaskier rolled his eyes and reached out, patting his arm. “To my new song?” he asked. “What did you think?”

“I — ” Geralt swallowed thickly. “Oh, it was — okay.”

Jaskier smiled brightly. “You’re so full of it,” he said, “Admit it: you loved it.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say. He just nodded again, dumbstruck. Jaskier laughed and leaned back, waving over the server. He ordered two more beers, one for each of them.

***

Geralt had to ask. It was later that night, and they were staying together at the local inn. “Are you really not going to say anything?”

They were both on the bed — Jaskier, strumming his lute, and Geralt cleaning his swords.

“Hmm, about what?” he asked.

Geralt’s hands stilled as he looked over. “You know what I mean.”

“ _Do I_?” he replied as he looked up. There was something almost challenging in the way he was looking at him. He was impressed by the bard’s bravery, not for the first time. He was something else. “I think,” he said, slow, “I need a bath.”

Jaskier climbed off the bed, and walked to the door. Geralt looked down, smiling to himself.

***

When Jaskier returned, his hair was still damp. They prepared, silently, for bed. Finally, they were both settled. They had gotten used to sharing a bed a long time ago, and if Geralt was honest he preferred not sleeping alone.

He reached over to pinch out the candles but Jaskier stopped him, a hand on his arm.

Geralt turned to look at him. “Wh — ”

Jaskier leaned up, fast, and kissed him on the cheek, right over his scar. “Sleep well, Geralt,” he said, pulling back and smiling softly.

He opened his mouth, but no words came. With no other option, he just nodded. Jaskier settled down, eyes closing, and Geralt regained his senses enough to pinch out the candles. Jaskier would never cease to amaze him.


End file.
